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    A Dedication

    by Lord Alfred Tennyson
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    Dear, near and true--no truer Time himself
    Can prove you, tho' he make you evermore
    Dearer and nearer, as the rapid of life
    Shoots to the fall--take this, and pray that he,
    Who wrote it, honoring your sweet faith in him,
    May trust himself; and spite of praise and scorn,
    As one who feels the immeasurable world,
    Attain the wise indifference of the wise;
    And after Autumn past--if left to pass
    His autumn into seeming-leafless days--
    Draw toward the long frost and longest night,
    Wearing his wisdom lightly, like the fruit
    Which in our winter woodland looks a flower.*

    *The fruit of the Spindle-tree (Euonymus Europaeus).
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